


Fonder (Absence Makes The Heart Grow)

by notionally



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Smut, Implied Relationships, Kang Seungyoon/Kim Jinwoo - Freeform, Kang Seungyoon/Lee Seunghoon - Freeform, Kim Jinwoo/Song Minho | Mino - Freeform, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, idolverse, just boys being soft and in love, wot4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 07:22:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18987961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notionally/pseuds/notionally
Summary: “I swapped seats with Seungyoonie.”“Yeah? Why?”Minho hums softly to himself. His lips are pressed into the side of Hoon’s neck. “Missed you.”In which Winner are all sort of sleeping with each other, but it’s a little different now that they don’t all live together, and Minho misses Hoon.





	Fonder (Absence Makes The Heart Grow)

 

 

They’re waiting to board the plane, bodies heavy and eyes still hazy from sleep, when Hoon feels a pair of arms sliding around his waist, a sharp chin hooking onto his shoulder. He leans into the familiar touch, the radiating warmth.

“What do you want?” he mumbles, resting his head against Minho’s, eyelids drooping.

“I swapped seats with Seungyoonie.”

“Yeah? Why?”

Minho hums softly to himself. His lips are pressed into the side of Hoon’s neck. “Missed you.”

Hoon feels the smile creeping onto his face. He yawns, stretching his arms overhead, displacing Minho. “Won’t Jinwoo hyung be upset you’re ditching him?”

“Jinwoo hyung will live,” Minho replies. He turns his head, and Hoon follows his gaze, across the boarding gate to where Jinwoo is sitting next to Yoon, the two of them slouched together and fast asleep. “Besides,” Minho adds. “I think Jinwoo hyung misses Yoonie too.”

That’s one of the things about them moving into two separate dorms. Don’t get him wrong, Hoon loves living with Yoon, especially loves the nights when Yoon gets too restless to be alone, and crawls into his bed just to lie in his arms. And he knows that Minho and Jinwoo are probably doing the same, just a few floors down from them, all softness and lazy kisses and fingers trailing along skin. 

Hoon doesn’t mind it, as such — but he misses them. Sometimes, when Yoon is away, Hoon will lie in bed awake, wondering if he should pad downstairs in his pajamas, just to slip beneath the covers with Jinwoo, or curl up next to Minho. He never does, mostly because as much as he craves the company, it’s too much effort for one in the morning. 

But he wants to, and that’s why he looks forward to their overseas schedules, looks forward to the break in their routine that allows them to make up for lost time. 

He turns back to Minho, to those bright, eager eyes, peering up at him from above the glasses that are perched on the bridge of his nose. Hoon smiles, one hand on Minho’s shoulder. He thumbs at the bit of Minho’s tattoo that’s visible where his t-shirt is just slipping off his collarbone.

“Hyung,” Minho says. Hoon lets his hand drop from Minho’s shoulder, sliding down his arm so he can lace their fingers together. 

_ “Minho,” _ he replies.

  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  


Minho’s really handsome, Hoon thinks. His hair is getting a little longer now, and Hoon likes how his fringe hangs down in his eyes. Likes the tousled looks their stylists give him. Likes the way Minho brushes his hair out of his face absently when he’s focused on something else. 

Likes thinking about tangling his fingers in those soft locks, and pulling — just hard enough to make Minho gasp.

“You’re staring,” Minho says.

Hoon blinks. He’d barely slept on the plane, his head feels like it’s full of cotton wool, and Minho is standing in front of him in the hotel lobby as they wait for their managers to get them checked in. Head tilted inquiringly. Close enough to touch. 

“You’re pretty,” Hoon replies, because he feels groggy and it’s the first thing that comes to mind and it’s also  _ true. _

Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes. But his cheeks raise in a fond smile, and he gives Hoon a shove on the arm. Hoon wraps his arm around the back of Minho’s neck, drags him in for a hug. Minho stumbles, crashes into his chest.

“Ah, hyung,” he complains. “What are you doing?”

“Sleepy,” Hoon says, not answering the question. “Wanna sleep.” He leans more of his weight into Minho, cheek squashed into Minho’s temple. Minho smells faintly of sweat and musty plane air and the spicy dregs of his cologne. Hoon closes his eyes, and breathes in.

Minho folds his arms around Hoon’s waist and tips his head forward into Hoon’s shoulder. Sighs like he’s deeply content. Maybe he is. Hoon hopes he is. 

“Si Mon hyung said no sleeping until after dinner,” Minho says. “We’ll be jetlagged.”

“I’m already jetlagged.”

“I didn’t make the rules.”

Hoon pulls away, just enough that he can look Minho in the eyes. He looks tired in the way that Minho has been looking so often recently, eyes tight around the edges and underlined with shadows. It makes Hoon want to comb his fingers through his hair and whisper in his ear until he falls asleep.

“Let’s share a room,” Hoon says. “You and me.” Just like they used to — not actually, but essentially — when they still lived together, fumbling in the darkness beneath quilts worn thin with use, all hands and lips and tongues and teeth. And arms wrapped around each other and legs tangled and breathing falling slowly in sync.

Minho smiles, and nods, and repeats after Hoon: “You and me.”

  
  


 

* * *

 

  
  


The first thing Hoon does when he gets to the room is get his toiletries bag out of his suitcase, and go take a shower. He hates the way flights make him feel, all grimy and sticky with sweat, even though the plane was, as it always it, almost unbearably cold. So he stands beneath the shower head, letting the water pour over him, so hot he can feel his skin reddening.

By the time he turns the water off, he’s starting to feel a little more like himself. He towels off, looking at himself in the mirror. He’s not bad-looking, he supposes. But he doesn’t really think he’s anything special, either.

“Hyung,” comes Minho’s voice. The bathroom door opens a crack, and Minho pokes his head in. Hoon turns, lazily wrapping the towel around his hips. Minho’s seen all of him there is to see, anyway.

Minho steps into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He’s stripped down to just his boxers, the tight ones that hug his ass in just the way Hoon appreciates. Hoon steps closer, stretching out his hand and slipping two fingers into the waistband of Minho’s boxers. He snaps the elastic against Minho’s skin.

“My turn to shower,” Minho says, swatting Hoon’s hand away. “Yoonie and Jinwoo hyung are getting room service.”

“So, they’re going to have sex?”

“Probably,” Minho replies. He tugs his boxers down over his hips.  “How’s the shower?” he asks, leaning into the stall to turn the water on. Hoon’s eyes trail down his shoulder blades, past the dip at the small of his back, along the curve of his bum.

“Good,” Hoon says. “Will we get room service too?”

“Yes, please.”

Hoon opens the bathroom door and leaves Minho to shower. He curls up in the armchair, still in his towel, and flips through the room service menu. Ends up picking something inoffensive and mundane, like all room service food inevitably is, speaking in halting English to the reception staff who answers the phone when he calls.

He finds two of those fluffy white hotel bathrobes in the wardrobe, chucks his towel over the back of the armchair so he can pull one of the robes on. Easily the best part about staying in hotels. Maybe he should find out where hotels get their robes from, buy one for himself to wear around the dorm.

The food arrives just as Hoon hears the shower stop — either this hotel has remarkably fast room service, or Minho’s been showering for an eternity. Hoon can’t tell, his jetlagged brain seems to have lost all conception of time. So he just shows the waiter to the table to put the food down, and gives him a small tip as he leaves. It feels nice, that he has enough money now to do that without thinking about it.

The bathroom door opens and Minho reappears in a cloud of steam, completely naked, a towel draped over his head as he haphazardly towels his hair dry. He heads straight for the food, leans over it and inhales deeply. “Smells good,” he declares.

Hoon picks up a fork and sits down, folding his legs onto the seat with him. “Are you not going to put on any clothes?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at Minho.

Minho shrugs. “Where did you get that robe?” he asks, and when Hoon points out the wardrobe to him, he goes and puts on the other robe. He ties the belt around his waist loosely. The robe slips slightly off one shoulder. Hoon rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. Minho smirks at him.

They eat in relative silence. Hoon’s too tired to be his usual effervescent self, and Minho — well, Minho’s just quieter around Hoon. More subdued, content to just sit and just  _ be. _ He has his fork in one hand, his cheek resting in the other. This is Hoon’s favourite Minho, he thinks. Freshly showered, with no make-up on, hair hanging messily in his eyes. Just Minho, no frills and fancies, laid bare in front of him.

“I’m not very hungry,” Minho says. He raises his gaze from his plate, to Hoon. 

Hoon nods, looking at his own plate of food, largely untouched. “Yeah, me neither.”

Minho puts his fork down and gets to his feet. He looks at the two double beds like he’s appraising them. “Which bed do you want, hyung?”

“Whichever one you’re in.”

“This one, then.” Minho flops face first into the bed closer to the window. “God, these sheets are so soft.” 

Hoon walks over to the bed, nudges Minho to roll over so he can pull the covers down. Minho wriggles beneath the heavy blankets, beaming up at Hoon. His robe has slipped completely off one shoulder, exposing all of his chest. His tattoos stand out like beacons, dark ink against bronze skin, calling out to Hoon.

“Are you too tired?” Minho asks, as Hoon stifles a yawn. 

“No,” Hoon replies. He crawls into bed with Minho. “But let’s be lazy, I want to be lazy.”

Minho hums happily, turning in towards Hoon. “Mm, okay,” he murmurs. Then he’s cupping Hoon’s jaw, pressing their bodies close, and gently grazing their lips together. It gives Hoon just enough time to close his eyes, and lean in.

When Minho kisses, he melts. His body moulds into Hoon’s, muscles loose and movements languid. His lips part like the petals of a blooming rose, imperceptibly slowly, and then before Hoon knows it Minho’s licking into his mouth, their tongues sliding together, hot and wet.

Minho drags his hand down along the side of Hoon’s neck, presses his palm flat against Hoon’s chest. “Missed you,” Minho says, mumbling into the kiss.

Hoon pushes his fingers through Minho’s hair. “You’ve said.”

“It’s true.”

Minho’s surprisingly delicate. People don’t know this about him, but Hoon does. He knows how Minho will carve his ribs open for the people he loves, even if all they do is dig their claws in and tear his heart out. Hoon knows this. He also knows he would never rip Minho apart like that.

“I missed you too,” he says, and he hears how it makes Minho’s breath hitch in his throat. He dips his head to Minho’s collarbone, presses fluttering kisses in a line from neck to shoulder. Shoves the rest of Minho’s robe out of the way, undoing the belt so he can slide his hand all the way down Minho’s body.

“You’re hard,” Hoon points out. He wraps his hand around Minho’s dick, gives a couple of slow, exploratory tugs.

Minho exhales softly through his parted lips. “Told you I missed you.”

Hoon grazes his teeth against the sensitive skin where Minho’s collarbone curves, laps at it with his tongue. “What, Jinu not enough for you?”

“Jinwoo hyung’s different,” Minho says. He twists his hips into Hoon’s hand, trying to get Hoon to speed up. Hoon doesn’t. He sucks at Minho’s neck, hard enough to leave a mark. Minho whimpers, his fingernails digging into Hoon’s shoulder. 

Hoon smiles against Minho’s skin. “He is, isn’t he?” he murmurs. “You know, he came over last week, and I let him fuck me.”

Minho groans, hands fisting in Hoon’s robe and dragging it off him. “Shut up,” he says. “You did not.”

“I did,” Hoon replies. He releases Minho’s dick so he can shimmy out of his robe. Minho takes the opportunity to sit up and do the same, tossing his robe onto the floor on the other side of the bed. “It gave me an idea of what it feels like for you, when I fuck you.”

“And?” Minho asks. He presses Hoon flat onto the bed, starts trailing kisses down the centre of his chest. “What did it feel like?”

Hoon digs his teeth into his lower lip. “Good,” he says, and Minho flicks his tongue against one of Hoon’s nipples. It sends a jolt of electricity careening through Hoon’s body, and he groans in pleasure.  _ “Minho-yah.” _

Minho looks up at Hoon through his lashes, thick and full and curtaining his eyes like a veil. “Can I suck you off?”

“Yeah, god — fuck.”

Hoon lets his head drop back into the pillows as Minho presses his tongue flat against his dick, drags it slowly up his length, swirling round the tip. He reaches down, cards his fingers through Minho’s hair. He’s so lucky, he thinks. To have Minho — and Jinwoo, and Seungyoon — all of them so young and so full of love that it spills out of them like sand through cupped hands.

When Minho slides his lips down around Hoon’s dick, it draws a low hiss of pleasure from Hoon, reverberating somewhere deep in his chest, somewhere he didn’t know existed. He twists his fingers in Minho’s hair, making Minho groan roughly around his dick, fingers digging into the flesh of his thigh. Hoon cranes his neck to look at Minho. He has his hand fisted around his own dick, is stroking himself as he takes Hook all the way into his mouth.

“Minho, god — you look good,” Hoon says. 

Minho hums in reply, evidently pleased by the praise. Hoon feels his dick hit the back of Minho’s throat, feels the muscles there clenching around.  _ “Fuck,” _ Hoon hisses, his hips bucking involuntarily into Minho. “Sorry — fuck.”

“Mm,” Minho murmurs, sliding his lips back up Hoon’s dick, laboriously slowly. “Don’t be sorry,” he purrs, sitting back on his knees, taking Hoon in his hand and stroking him lazily. “I liked it.”

Hoon drags Minho back up to him, then they’re kissing with open mouths, tongues slipping against each other, lips slick with spit, sloppy and almost drunken even though they’re both completely sober.

“Condom,” Hoon murmurs breathlessly into Minho’s mouth. “My bag.”

“Yeah, okay.” Minho climbs off, walks over to Hoon’s bag to find what they need. Hoon props himself up on one elbow, wrapping his hand around his dick as he watches Minho. Slender waist, the knobs of his spine faintly visible at the small of his back. Hoon thumbs at his slit, drags his hand up and down. So pretty, he thinks.  _ So pretty. _

Minho tosses the condom at Hoon, crawling back into bed with the small bottle of lube in his hand. He’s about to squirt some into his hand when Hoon stops him, fingers around thin wrist to still his hand.

“Let me,” Hoon says. Minho’s eyes are glassy as he nods, leans back on the bed on his elbows, gaze fixed on Hoon. 

Hoon loves fingering Minho. Loves watching how Minho falls apart beneath him, how his teeth sink fiercely into his lower lip, how his body tightens and trembles, how he tips his head back and exposes that delicious column of neck. He crooks his finger inside Minho, searching for the spot that will make Minho shatter. 

_ “Hyung,” _ Minho cries out. His elbows crumple beneath him, and he collapses back into the bed. Hoon slides another finger into Minho, twists them both experimentally. It drags a plaintive whine from Minho, and he squirms into Hoon’s hand, hands fisting in the sheets.

“Good?” Hoon asks, even though he already knows the answer. He can read Minho’s body like a book. He pushes a third finger into Minho, watches as Minho arches his back off his bed. Slides his free hand up to Minho’s clenched fist, loosens it and interlaces their fingers. 

“Hoon-ah,” Minho pants out. “Fuck me, please.”

Hoon curls his fingers as he slides them out of Minho. Relishes in the way it makes Minho gasp out a broken,  _ “hyung”. _

He sits back, tearing into the foil packet with his teeth. Minho watches him as he puts the condom on, stroking his own dick as he does so. He has a lazy smirk on his face. “You’re really fucking hot, you know?” Minho asks.

“So I’ve been told.” Hoon climbs on top of Minho, smoothing Minho’s hair off his forehead.

“What, by Yoonie?” Minho asks, chuckling. He grinds his hips up into Hoon.

“I have a one hundred-percent customer satisfaction rate,” Hoon declares. He tries to line himself up with Minho, but Minho’s twisting about so needily beneath him, it’s difficult. He grips onto Minho’s hip with one hand, feeling the sharp point of his hip bone pressing into his palm. “Stop squirming.”

Minho slides his hands up Hoon’s back. “Don’t refer to me as a customer,” he scolds. Drags his fingernails back down across the skin, just hard enough that Hoon hisses in pain. “Hurry up and fuck me already.”

“Maybe I would, if you’d stop  _ wriggling,”  _ Hoon complains, but he can hear the fondness in his own voice, and he knows Minho can as well. He pushes slowly into Minho, eyes locked onto Minho’s beautiful, perfect face. He hears the soft intake of breath as Minho adjusts to the sensation, leans his forehead against Minho’s as he waits. Both their eyes wide open, drowning in each other.

It doesn’t take long before Minho’s groaning, twisting his hips into Hoon’s, and Hoon obeys the unspoken instruction. He tangles his fingers in Minho’s hair, slides out of Minho and thrusts in again. Minho clenches around him with every thrust, back arching off the bed and legs coming up to wrap around Hoon’s waist, ankles hooked in the small of his back.

Sometimes they fuck hard and fast, headboard slamming into the wall, deep grunts and skin slapping and teeth sinking into flesh. Sometimes they fuck like it’s a game, all giggles and teasing insults, two boys tumbling over each other in the sheets.

And sometimes — sometimes, like this time — they fuck soft and slow.

Hoon presses his lips into the curve of Minho’s cheekbone. One hand on the back of Minho’s neck, thumb rubbing against the sharp edge of his jaw, right below his earlobe. His other hand slips between them, wraps around Minho’s dick. Arousal builds in his core, a tightening of the muscles in his groin. And affection, in his chest — clenching around his heart like a vice.

“You know,” Hoon whispers, voice coming out stuttered, “if it was the kind of thing we said, I would say it to you.”

Minho reaches up to cup Hoon’s jaw, pulls him in for a kiss. “I know,” he replies breathlessly against Hoon’s lips. “Me too.”

But it’s not the kind of thing they say — even though it’s  _ true  _ — so Hoon just smiles against Minho’s mouth. He’s so close, can feel the way his body’s starting to tense up the way it does right before his release. He quickens his pace, stroking Minho more insistently, twisting his wrist in just the way he knows Minho loves. Minho’s breaths start to come in staccato bursts, and Hoon’s so close but he holds on, desperately gripping onto the edge because he wants to make Minho feel good first. That’s all he’s ever wanted, really — to make Minho happy, before everything, before anything else.

When Minho comes, he does so with a broken cry, arching his body into Hoon and jerking roughly into Hoon’s hand. Come smears between them, warm and sticky.

“Hoon,  _ Hoon — oh my god,” _ Minho pants out. His muscles clench rhythmically around Hoon, and his voice is so shattered like glass that Hoon finally lets himself go. He buries his face in Minho’s shoulder, hips bucking into Minho, his entire body tensing up and releasing in a heartbeat.

Hoon groans. He’s collapsed on top of Minho, but he can’t bring himself to move. Minho’s warm, and soft, and Hoon wants to be tucked up against him forever. “We’re gonna need another shower,” he mumbles into Minho’s neck.

Minho just makes a noise of displeasure in the back of his throat. He nuzzles his face into the side of Hoon’s head. “No,” he says, and Hoon can hear the pout even without looking at him. “Tomorrow.”

“Gross,” Hoon replies. He drags himself up off Minho, grabbing a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table, chucking them at Minho. 

“You’re gross,” Minho retorts, eloquently. He wipes the come off his own stomach, then does the same for Hoon. Balls up the tissues, chucks them across the room at the bin. He misses — the tissues bounce off the wall and land on the carpet next to the bin. Minho groans, falls back into the pillows. “I’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

Hoon laughs. He’s tied the condom up, and goes to throw it in the bathroom bin, picking up the evidence of Minho’s failed shot as he passes. “I thought I was the one who was jetlagged,” he teases, flicking the light switch off and slipping back into bed with Minho.

“We’re both jetlagged,” Minho replies, already wrapping his arms and legs around Hoon’s torso. He pushes his face into the side of Hoon’s neck. “You’re so nice to hug.”

Hoon shuffles, trying to get comfortable, curling his arms around Minho. Presses a kiss into the top of Minho’s head.  _ I love you,  _ he thinks.

But he doesn’t say it. 

He doesn’t need to. Minho knows. And he knows Minho knows.

What he says instead: “I’ve missed you.” 

And then: “I’m fond of you.” 

And then: “I’m glad we found each other.”

Minho smiles against his skin. “You and me both.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I started getting properly into winner about a week ago and I am already fully and and thoroughly whipped. I love minhoon loads but tbh I could see any of them paired up in any which way, they're just four boys in love and my heart hurts thinking about it... please leave kudos/comments or come talk to me if you enjoyed! :)
> 
>  
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/notionxally) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/notionxally)


End file.
